


Give Me An Inch, I'll Take A Mile

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anthea is his bodyguard, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Passive aggressive behavior, They're both jerks, Trolling behavior, eventual sexytimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Academy takes in those who don’t have a home, who are willing to give up their identity for a new life. It spits out soldiers, assassins, bodyguards - all of the highest quality. Codename Anthea is a young woman fresh out of the academy and newly assigned to Mycroft Holmes. While she has heard about him, heard about how he goes through bodyguards like a child goes through candy, she is determined to not let him chase her away.</p><p>Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in Britain with the worst reputation. A perfectionist, he has control over every aspect of his life - and his bodyguard’s, whether they want it or not. Bristly and dismissive, he rubs her the wrong way - literally.</p><p>When Mycroft’s usual partner cancels, it’s the decision of a moment to tumble into bed together. After all, they spend most of their waking moments by each other’s sides. Sex is nothing. But when it happens again, and again - she starts to realize that maybe, just maybe, something is happening that neither of them want to talk about. Will it break through the shells they have worked so hard to build? Or will it fester until it bursts and ruin them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me An Inch, I'll Take A Mile

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the last of the four fics I'm planning to keep going for a while. :) Updates every two weeks, like the rest.

She looked at her supervisor, codename Garnet, a tall, lanky woman with muscles the size of her head. Garnet studied her for a moment. "You're going to your assignment.”

She didn't hesitate, didn't waver. She nodded, knowing that was what to come. "Where?"

Garnet smiled, tilted her head slightly. Said nothing. In a way that was to be expected, after their training. Some of their clients were incredibly secretive, not prone to giving out their information even to their new bodyguards.

"What is my code name?" She asked.

Garnet looked at her. "You're allowed to pick your own name," she said finally. "You know the rules."

She nodded. They had criteria for selection, for names that suited them but went under the radar. "Anthea," She said after moment.

Garnet smiled, but it was razor-thin. "We'll have aliases drawn up for you in the event that you need them.”

The newly-dubbed Anthea nodded, her eyes steely.

"He's waiting for you," Garnet said, and Anthea didn't bat an eye, didn't move right away. “He” meant there could be few possibilities. She had known that there was an infamous client looking for a new bodyguard, but she didn't think that she would be picked even though she was top of her class. If it was him, she could be in trouble.

With a deep breath, she left the room, got into the nondescript black car outside. She was alert, aware. Keeping track of everything around her. It was strange, leaving the Academy for the first time in a long time. She had never left for good, never been exposed to one of their clientele outside of a test mission.

But she looked at the man sitting there. Raised her eyebrows. He was not her client, she knew that much. There was too much wrong with him, with way he looked. He didn't have the charisma that was common of their employers. The agency that she worked with trained only the best. Soldiers, assassins, bodyguards. They could be anything that they had been trained to be. Anthea had specialized as a bodyguard - but she could do other tasks as needed. "Where are we going?" she asked coolly.

The man in the car glanced her way, then back to the front of the car. "A bar."

Anthea looked at him, shook her head. That was a lie, and she knew it. "You're not very good at this," she said. She smiled, her voice polite. "Where are we going?" She asked, her voice sweet, overly so. She was young, she was beautiful, and she was often underestimated. It would be one of her greatest assets, working in the field. Nobody would think much of her.

"A bar," he said again.

Anthea studied him for a moment, considering the awkward position of the car, the fact that it was moving. It meant she would have to adjust her attack, to ensure that neither she nor the car were overly endangered. The car was likely her new employer’s and she would rather not get off on the wrong foot by destroying his car before she had even met him.

She reached out, and he looked at her, wary. She gently took his hand, smiled. He narrowed his eyes. "I'll ask you again," she said, her voice that same, syrup-y sweet tone. “Where are we going?" The man tried to jerk his arm out of her grip but couldn’t budge.

She picked up a finger, pulled it back to the point it hurt. He hissed, and while she smiled inwardly, her outward expression didn’t change an iota. This wasn't even that bad. He was a wuss, if he would break with that. "You don't really need fingers to do your job," she said sweetly. "Do you?” She looked at him with wide, expectant eyes. Had he been told who he was picking up? Apparently not.

He didn’t say anything. She tugged his finger back just a little bit more. Soon it would break. The man's breath inhaled sharply, and he swallowed. "We’re going to the office," he said finally.

Anthea let him go, leaned back in her seat. That was almost disappointing. She been prepared so well in her interrogation class she was sorry to see him break so fast. Maybe the next one would be more fun. "See?" she said amiably. "That wasn't that hard.” He glared at her, and said nothing else. She grinned, despite herself. That had been more fun than she anticipated.

The car slid to a stop. "Go inside," he said.

She looked at him, raised her eyebrows. Apparently, he wasn't going inside. Just she was. She was okay with that. She got out of the car, closed the door behind her. Who was her employer? She could guess now, based on what she knew. While the Academy students were a close-knit bunch, they gossiped. The supervisors looked out for each other, made sure that only good employers were redeemed. With a few exceptions. Sometimes people had enough money and power that it didn’t matter.

She looked up the building, a tall, ominous building. Nobody spoke, as she entered. Nobody said anything to her at all. She took a deep breath, settled herself. Pushed away anything and everything that had been annoying her. There was no place for emotion here, no place for feeling.

She was met by a tall man in a suit. Not her employer, no. He was closer, but not quite. He nodded to her, and then led her back. She followed him, glancing around. Several men in suits sat in various chairs, wine in hand. Nearly all turned to look at her at least once, some twice. Men were so easily infatuated. It was one of her assets, and one of the easiest to use. But this wasn’t the time.

Eventually she was led into a room. It was an office, glitzy, with monitors covering the far wall. Interesting. Most likely it was a fake office, a shell. There were computers, they were files, but none of them really had the signs of hard use. There was a man sitting there at the desk. Inwardly, her stomach twisted. It was _him_ , her supervisor had given her to him.

Mycroft Holmes had quite the reputation. He went through bodyguards like children went through candy. Most lasted a week, sometimes less. He used them and then tossed them to the side. Given his power, given his affluence, no one could dare reprimand him. Instead, the errant bodyguards were replaced.

Anthea had known one of his former bodyguards. She had ended up back in remedial training after he was through with her and had not survived her next assignment. Not that Anthea particularly cared, given they formed no attachments. But it did make her wary.

She stood there for a moment, studying him. Not saying anything. No, she wasn't going to speak unless spoken to. He had a reputation for being strict about protocol.

“Your name?" he asked, his voice cool.

"Anthea," she said. She looked at him, raised her eyebrows. "Yours?" she asked, all thoughts of following protocol out the window. She was reckless, and she knew it. Introductions were a logical thing. She would be working with him, she would know all of his secrets. It was only a matter of time before she found out something he didn't want anybody else to know.

He looked at her, and there was a look on his face that quelled any of her other questions. Oh no, he was exactly as bad as the rumors had said. "My name is Mycroft Holmes," he said, an edge to his voice. "You will address me as Sir." Anthea nodded. This was what she was trained to do, it was what she been bred to do, in a way. To obey orders and protect those whose lives were entrusted with her. She could do that. Mycroft stood, looked her up and down. Smiled. "You look nice.”

She said nothing, standing at attention. She was dressed in her usual outfit, a skirt and blazer jacket, tight but not too tight, allowing for easy movement. Out in the field she would trade that skirt for slacks, for something easier to fight in. But domestically, it was easy enough to get by in the skirt if she had to.

Besides, he seemed to like it. His gaze was on her legs, looking her up and down. He did have a reputation, after all. She wondered how long it would be before he made his move, before he tried to get a hand up that skirt.

He looked at her, an icy smile on his face. "When did you graduate?" he asked.

Anthea looked at him, her eyes steady. "A week ago, Sir,” she said. Two could play that game. She wouldn’t let herself be intimidated.

He stepped closer, circled her once. She hated it, feeling like she was a animal being assessed. She was so much more than that, and she knew it. She would make sure that he knew it, too. While she was pretty sure that don't beat up your new employer was probably somewhere in the manual, don't fuck your bodyguard was also probably in there somewhere. She kept her face stoic, her expression unchanging, as he stepped closer. He was dangerously close to her personal space.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said. He raised his eyebrows. "Sir,” she added after a moment.

He moved forward, smirked. Clearly thought himself above the law. He reached out, his hand skimming her arm.

Without a second thought she grabbed his hand, pinned his arm behind his back, and slammed him into the wall. He wasn't in her shape, but he wasn't a weakling either. She had been able to do that because he had been surprised. He had not actually expected her to touch him. "I told you," she said, her voice almost bored. "Don't touch me.” She held him there for a few moments and then let go. "Sir."

He turned, rubbing his arm. There was a strange sort of glee or surprise to his face. She had expected a scolding, maybe getting fired. But he seemed amused. "You'll do," he said after moment.

She looked at him, frowned. "Yes sir," she said without saying anything else. It was not worth it. She could find out what he meant by that rather sooner than later.

He studied her for a moment, a slight grin on his face. "You're in charge of getting coffee," he said, turning back and sitting at his desk.

She nodded smartly, part of her annoyed that this would be her first official job. "What kind?"

He smiled at her, and there was a mocking slant to it No wonder the others hated him. He seemed to like to play games, seemed want to be in control. "Figure it out."

She nodded politely. He sat at his desk, seemingly ignoring her. She was okay with that. She could ignore him too. She put on gloves and went to his trash, rifling through it. There was nothing relevant in it, not at least right away. At the bottom, she saw a coffee lid, or half of one anyway. That was a clue, at least. So he took the lid off and drank out of the cup. Which meant the cup had to be somewhere.

She studied him for a moment, considering. He didn't look at her, but she knew he was paying attention. "Where next," she murmured herself. He didn't say anything, but she didn't expect him to. She headed downstairs, away from the office. She retraced the steps that had taken her to where she met him, glancing in the bins as she passed When she came in, she remembered seeing that none of the men had been drinking anything but wine, so if he had been drinking coffee, then any coffee cup was likely to be his. While they had not explicitly covered scavenger hunt in her bodyguard classes, she wasn’t doing too badly.

In the third bin she found a coffee cup with the other half of the lid in the bin next to it. Had he gone through all of this effort just for her? She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or annoyed. Maybe both. She picked up the coffee cup, studied it. There was no logo, no insignia. That was a clue in itself. She knew that where she was going had very plain cups. She sniffed the cup, inhaling the contents. Inside she could smell hints of coffee, cinnamon. And some mocha and chocolate. So he liked his coffee decadent, then.

When she stood, the coffee cup in her gloved hand, there was a man glaring at her. She stared evenly back. If he wanted to take over her responsibilities with Mycroft Holmes, he was more than willing to.

She turned back to the cup, then tossed it and the gloves away. She knew enough to put together the pieces, she just needed to find it. She went outside and glanced around. Logically it would make sense if he went to the close coffee car. But given his job and the security he had assembled, she doubted the nearest one was where he went. Besides, from what she could see the coffee cups were different.

Three coffee stands away, she found when she was looking for. They had mochas, and they were what he wanted. She smiled, bought one for him – and one for her. She was to start aligning her tastes with his, her mannerisms, her habits. They had to be together all the time, be identical. That way, it would be more difficult for anyone going after him to tell them apart.

She took the two coffees back to the shell office, walked in, walked the now familiar pathway to her boss’s office. She put a coffee on his desk, looked at him. Said nothing.

He leaned down, smelled it. "There’s whipped cream," he said. His eyes were distant, scolding. Inwardly she chastised herself. She hadn't seen that in the cup, she had missed it.

"Next time," she said. He studied her for a moment, and then he relented a little bit. Apparently she hadn't completely botched it.

"Not entirely unsatisfactory," he said.

Part of Anthea knew that was high praise, part of her wanted to roll her eyes. But she said nothing. "Thank you, Sir."

He smiled faintly at her, and then sipped his coffee. It didn't seem like the coffee actually bothered him with whipped cream. "Do you have an overnight bag?" he asked.

Anthea nodded stiffly. "Up to a week," she said. "Sir," she added.

He nodded once. "We're leaving," he said. Anthea raised her eyebrows. He stood and left without looking at her.

Well, it wasn't going to be boring, that was for sure.

He stepped back in the door, looked at her. His face was like it was carved out of stone. "The jet's this way," he said.

She took a deep breath and followed him to the jet.

-

Her first mission had not been exactly what she expected, had not been worse nor better. But it had happened. They had ended up, of course, in the middle of a fight where they were vastly outnumbered. Part of her rather peevishly thought that he had set the scenario up on purpose, that he had pissed those people off just so she had somebody to beat up. It was a test, most likely. Although most employers did not test their bodyguards, she had a good idea what he got his jollies doing and it wasn't politics.

"Good job," he said, but it sounded mocking, not praiseworthy. As if he was humoring her.

"I don't require thanks for doing my job," she said, irritated. She didn't want empty praise, didn't want platitudes. Yet it seemed like that was what he was going to give her.

He studied her for a moment, apparently surprised. He didn't look surprised, but there was a way about how he held his lips that made her think that he was. "Interesting," he said.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. That didn't bode well, not her limited experience. From what she knew it Mycroft Holmes, the less he thought of her, the better. Then again, that was more complicated when they spent so much time together. "Sir?" she asked.

He shook his head, stretched out his legs in the jet. His clothes were still stained with blood, and so were hers. It had gotten messy, but nothing a shower once they were home wouldn't fix. Besides, their flight was private. Nobody would see them.

She studied him for a moment, watched the way he looked at her. He didn't seem surprised to be caught staring, didn't seem bothered that she noticed. Instead, it kind of looked like he wanted to devour her. Like he was fascinated by her, what she had done. What was it about her that fascinated him?

Part of her shivered, part of her smiled. Part of her was gleeful. It looked like her first assignment wouldn't be boring after all. Their eyes met, and there was an intensity that surprised her. She shivered, glanced out the window. She couldn't keep her eyes off him for very long, it wasn’t secure, but sometimes she needed a break. It would be very interesting, the next few months. Very interesting indeed.


End file.
